♥ Caleb ♥
The smell of roasting meat, onions, and something sweet floated through the house, and Christmas music played from Amy’s phone on the counter. Pots clanged, the oven beeped, and the kettle boiled for the third time in thirty minutes. The whole place buzzed, and we hadn’t even had breakfast yet. Hell, it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.
“Amy, breathe,” I said as I came into the kitchen.
“I am breathing,” she said, even though her voice came out tight. “I am also basting, chopping, and trying not to burn the caramel. Where is my list?” the list was on the fridge, held in place by the ultrasound magnet. I pulled it off and held it up.
“Right here,” I said. “Command center,” she wiped her hands on a dish towel and came over, a smear of flour on her cheek, and her hair twisted into
